


New Leaf Tea

by EuclideanVision



Series: 31 Days of Apex Stories [6]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: 31 Days of Apex (Apex Legends), Apex Legends Quest: The Broken Ghost, Day 26 - Holiday, Day 31 - Freestyle, Gen, Shadowfall (Apex Legends)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EuclideanVision/pseuds/EuclideanVision
Summary: 31 Days of Apex - Day 26 - HolidayRevenant pops to the Shadowlands for a spot of tea.[Set post-finale of The Broken Ghost]
Series: 31 Days of Apex Stories [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877185
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	New Leaf Tea

The Paradise Lounge was something of a safe haven for the Apex Legends. Usually, the place would be packed, Mirage trying to squeeze every last beautiful woman possible through the door, insisting he could take care of everyone. On days like these, he actually came through on his promise. 

For today was not a usual day. The Apex Games were streaming live across the Outlands; a new batch of up and coming Predators aiming to take on the Legends of the arena. The Paradise Lounge saw no business on game day, largely because Mirage couldn't be trusted to actually employ anyone to run the old bar in his absence. He always tried to do far too much on his own. 

"No, no, seriously, I've got this under contam…contrare…" Mirage stammered over the bartop, flailing a mop desperately at his latest attempt to impress his lone patron, "Well, whatever it's under, I'm on top of it."

Wraith chuckled softly at him over what was by no means her first Appletini of the day. He winked at her, his long, perfectly preened eyelashes fluttering in the afternoon sun; before turning back to his frantic cleaning. With all the Predators filling out today's roster; fresh from their victories in the qualifiers, a few of the Legends had been given the time off. Mirage would hog too much of the spotlight, so he'd been quietly soothed aside by the PR reps. Wraith had been told simply that she had been winning too often. _Too_ often maybe wasn't fair. 

There was one other person who had been left out of today's match, but it was difficult for most anyone to think of them as a person at all. Even given recent developments.

Revenant stalked from the shadows of a back room, as if he had formed from the very darkness itself. It wasn't hard for anyone to guess why he'd been excluded from today's match. His metal feet landed silently against the concrete floor, stepping nonchalantly around tiny shards of broken glass and dried pools of syrupy accidents. Wraith watched him intently as he glided under the counter, right up behind Mirage; the voices that usually cascaded through her mind eerily silent. 

"You missed a spot," growled the simulacrum, leaning on the varnished wood of the bar top across from Wraith. He didn't even turn to watch Mirage collapse to the floor in a tangled heap, but he knew that the crafty fool would swiftly disappear.

"What do you want?" Wraith demanded coldly. 

"Y-yeah, and how did you get in?" flustered Mirage, shimmering into view on the bar stool next to her, wiping his sodden face with a towel, "The doors are all locked up." 

"So they are…" mused Revenant; his deep, yellow eyes melting into the glare. 

"Look…" Wraith sighed, "I get that you and Loba aren't at each other's throats any more…"

"Tch, yeah, get a room," Mirage interjected. The deathly white stare of Wraith's wide irises stabbed icy spears into him, and his reflection burned furiously in Revenant's golden retinas. After a long pause, they turned back to each other. 

"I also understand that we're no longer working against each other," Wraith continued, "And that's not even considering what we were working on in the first place...but that doesn't mean that we're suddenly all just friends now. You made your choices. So why should I sit here looking at your ugly mug when I could be enjoying my damn Appletini?" 

Mirage had to stifle his giggling with his hands as he turned away from the overly serious pair. To say "Appletini" with such gravitas seemed so utterly ridiculous - but it was frankly typical of her, and he would never confess that it meant the absolute world to him. He did make a mean Appletini though. 

"I won't keep you from your precious _'tini,_ " Revenant murmured, his plated joints digging soft grooves into the wood, "But you will have to bear with me girly, I'm not exactly used to this sort of thing…"

His distorted words hung on the air for a moment, dissipating into the dusty atmosphere. 

"What sort of thing?" Wraith finally probed. 

"Asking."

His tone was ominous, threatening. As if there would only be one sure answer to his request. But the Void still lay silent. Could he even help being so menacing? Whether it was because of his undulating frame, or his twisted personality, his unfortunate history, or even his uncanny death mask…it didn't matter. He was naturally unsettling. His displays of abject violence and disturbing paranormal abilities didn't exactly help much. 

Yet here he stood, an ancient automaton housing a dead man. A man who had died far more than the obligatory once. A man who had taken innumerable others to the grave from far beyond his own. 

He was not the type to ask. He had said so himself. But that would suggest some kind of ruse - the Revenant they knew was devious to a fault. Yet the way he leaned against the bartop felt so human, so real. To think that he could want anything more than to simply toy with his prey was intriguing.

"So what do you want?" Wraith snapped again. For all her sudden fascination with the idea, she was not willing to waste any chances on nightmares.

"Long distance flight," Revenant stated categorically. He wanted to go _there?_

"I don't do return tickets," Wraith smirked. It felt good to give him a taste of his own medicine, but she wouldn't let herself drink the whole bottle. She had had a few too many Appletinis for that; it would ruin her palate. 

A small, diamond-shaped charm tumbled across Revenant's spidery digits, yet Wraith was certain it had not been in his hands as he had leant across from her. Without a word, he caught the gleaming gem between his elongated fingertips, as he slid a fresh cocktail glass from under the bar, gingerly enveloping the stem in his free hand. He slowly turned it upright, and placed it delicately on the counter; passing his other hand deftly over the rim. 

The shining stone hovered in the centre of the empty glass, as if suspended in a ghostly nightcap. The dazzling sun refracted from its surface as it rotated smoothly within its new vessel, but it seemed to cast no shadow. 

Both Wraith and Mirage looked up in amazement as Revenant gently edged the glass over to rest serenely in front of them; the totem steadily turning. 

"So you're saying we can abaddon… abbreviate…dammit, we can get rid of you?" Mirage blustered suddenly, words scrambling over each other to fight their way out of his mouth. His big, dumb mouth.

"Regardless…" Wraith cut in, "If you think that I'm sending you off for a playdate with the version of you that's actually defeated a version of me…the _one_ version, might I add…then you certainly have made the wrong choice." 

"Did you...follow any of that or am I the only one that's confused?" Mirage gestured to the simulacrum.

Wraith rounded on the dumbfounded man, as Revenant snatched another cocktail glass from the rack. Wraith was shocked to only hear her own voice chastising Mirage, as the shattering splinters glittered across the far side of the room; no call from the Void necessary. 

"H-hey! I'm just trying to say…" floundered Mirage, "If a scary murder robot asked me to open them a portal to a shadow world, I'd go intra, no…intermediate…well, I'd just tear that bad boy right open!" Revenant's hollow gaze sent shivers coursing through him, and he hastily added, "The p-portal. Of course."

Before Wraith could even think of responding, Revenant's rumbling growl shook them to attention, "And you call yourself an Apex Legend, skinsuit? What, scared of a broken old robot?" He stood up straight behind the bar, his overwhelming presence mounting, "You hide behind shiny doppelgangers, fancy titles and false bravado...because you're scared of anyone seeing the real you. And you know what, I'd be surprised if you even had a clue who that was."

His long, spindly finger reached out over the bar, unfurling jarredly towards a frozen Mirage, "Funny...An invisible man living through hollow replicas. Reminds me of someone. What horrible secrets do you have to hide, little trickster? Or are you nothing but smoke and mirrors yourself?" 

Before his probing finger could caress warm flesh, cold steel instead met his own. The clash rang through the bar as a signal for a final order. 

"Don't you touch him," Wraith hissed, having leapt to her feet, her kunai grinding against Revenant's grasping clutches. It took all the force she could muster to hold him back; he was incredibly strong, despite his skeletal figure. Her mind reached deep into the Void, anxiety growing to consume her, as it remained deathly quiet.

Yet the world in front of her held the answers. Revenant made his choice. The strain between them slackened gradually, Revenant's hand drooping in seeming resignation. One of his fingers brushed against her glove, and she swung the kunai in a fierce arc to knock him away; unnerved at even the thought of his spidery touch.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded angrily. He really wasn't any good at asking for anything. It even seemed pointless asking such a question of him in itself. She was not prepared for the answer that came, let alone that he had one for her. 

"I was kind of hoping you'd let him prove me wrong," Revenant sighed, "I know full well that you're worth your salt girly, but I also know that that's not your issue…"

The Void itself threatened to swallow her whole. How dare he look down at her with such sad eyes? How dare he even think to pity her!? 

The realisation snapped her back to her senses. He could feel pity? He wanted Elliot to prove himself? He was here, asking for a favour, and backing up from a fight? 

"You have no idea," she spat back at him, suppressing the fear of relating to such a monster with seething venom of her own.

"I don't. But I don't think you do either, do you?" 

But it was no use. He had shown what little there was left to him, and so had seen her. It felt so rotten. So…invasive. In not knowing, he understood. None of them could show their true colours, for they did not know what that actually entailed, or dared not accept it. They obscured themselves with grandiose masquerades and thick veils of mystery, all to hide the empty truth of absence. 

Yet all they wanted was to know themselves. 

To see Wraith so visibly taken aback by the simulacrum's question stirred something deep inside Mirage. For all his tricks and jokes, for all that he hid, she had always looked past it for his sake. It was time to return the favour. 

He knew full well that nothing he could say would help, and not just because of his particular way with words. For all that Revenant said, he still was a scary murder robot.

But if he wasn't, there would be nothing to stand up to. 

And so Mirage stood, scraping the bar stool behind him as he rose. The noise jolted both of their gazes towards him, but not in their earlier frustration. They both looked so scared, so fragile; as if the slightest breeze would scatter them into tiny flecks of light and noise. 

The moment wouldn't last, however. Wraith's composure returned, and she took a moment to gently smile at him before her sharp gaze rounded on Revenant. Yet her edge faded immediately, as she was met not with his own unflinching stare, but merely his hunched back slowly slipping away. 

"Good to see you do have some substance," he purred as he slunk towards the shadows. His very essence seemed to fade as he moved away from them, and Wraith couldn't help but feel the familiar sense of self-doubt emanating from him like the many shadows cast in the wake of a thousand scorching suns.

He had often said that you can't argue with programming. It is difficult to live without trust in oneself, especially when that which truly determines us is so unfathomable by its very nature. Memories, beliefs and drives were the best bet any of them had. 

Yet they all still found themselves wanting.

A warping, unearthly thrum burst through the tense atmosphere, and the very air itself tore open. Electricity crackling from her hand; her mind surging back from the Void, Wraith set the portal in place at her side with a deft flick of her wrist. 

She dared not look for the reaction in the simulacrum's eyes, and it was clear he did not want to share such a revealing insight either. She also wished that she couldn't feel the burning surprise and confusion that washed over her from Mirage's stunned stare. As if reading her very thoughts; his back still turned, Revenant slowly folded in upon himself, crouching down behind the bar. 

Mirage found his befuddled gaze wrenched away from the unknowable Goddess who stepped between worlds, as their very own Demon stepped out of his shadow, a silvery hand resting firmly on his shoulder. Revenant suddenly skulked past him out of the darkness, and for the first time in a long while, Mirage was actually at a loss for words. 

Wraith could hear Revenant's purposefully solid footsteps behind her, and she was glad to know he was there; if only so that she could avoid meeting his sunken optics directly. She dared not show him the pain she felt, nor see it reflected straight back at her. Every muscle in her body tensed in fury as steely fingers wrapped gently atop her shoulder, the very fiber of her being screaming with dread. Yet the Void still lay silent. Was she conspiring against herself? Or was her trust showing her the way through the mire of her own doubts? 

"I'm not thanking you," broke the heavy silence that lay over them, as Revenant's elongated fingers slipped slowly from her. To think that he could lay a hand on someone without the intent of harming them...whatever his and Loba's agreement was had evidently sent him haywire. 

"I don't want your thanks," Wraith retorted harshly; still petrified of the idea of turning to face him, even though she was sure that no physical harm would befall her if she did.

Revenant stopped in front of the portal, his spindly frame casting distorted shadows in its crackling glow, "Then what do you want girly? I'm only looking for answers; doubt I'll be able to pick you up a souvenir."

Wraith found the strength she had been searching for so desperately, urged on by the prodding jibes of the Demon in their midst. He had hurt Natalie. Wraith would take any slings, arrows, or murderous cackles that he had to throw at her, but she would not take that. 

She turned, staring up at the sheer wall of metal that made up Revenant's back; his eyes still averted, fixed on the portal ahead. She steadied herself, summoning every last fragment of self-worth she could muster, and her voice rose above the reverberating hum, "Find a way to apologise to Wattson. If you can, consider the trip paid for…" Her tone dropped low, just loud enough for Revenant to hear, "If you can't, I'll make sure you learn how."

Revenant remained motionless for yet another moment that seemed to stubbornly refuse to slip onwards with the steady flow of time, before a single, rasping chuckle resonated through his entire body, and his arm gently raised in what seemed like a parting wave, "Heh. I'll see if they have a gift shop."

Revenant glided forth into the Void; his form distending endlessly into the empty space between worlds, and he was gone. Yet his presence lingered heavily on the Paradise Lounge, and as the portal slammed shut, neither Wraith nor Mirage could bring themselves to even move. 

"Hey, y-you OK in there?" finally came a nervous call from behind her. If there was ever a time to be thankful for Mirage's big, dumb mouth; this was a better choice than most. Wraith relished in the steady calm his voice brought her, despite the clearly shaking nerves behind it. She turned to face those massive puppy-dog eyes, struggling to maintain a facade of confidence and stability. 

"I'm alright, just had to make a choice," she said assuredly; her heart melting at the wave of relief she could see passing over the smiling idiot.

"Well, uh…sorry," he muttered, his shoulders dropping, "I wasn't much a-system...a sitter?...agh I wasn't really any help just then. I should have had your back."

"You made a choice at least. That's an improvement," Wraith smiled comfortingly at him. Everything about him unfurled, like the blossoming of fresh flowers in the spring.

"Oho!" he cried jubilantly, "Then speaking of choices, what are we drinking?" 

"What would you like?" Wraith smirked at him. His eyes lit up like those of a child running home to his mother, and he stumbled over himself to think of the most extravagant order he could get out of her. 

Brushing aside his absurd requests, Wraith leapt over the sturdy bar top, taking care to avoid the totem resting between them. 

**_"Watch out. He didn't finish cleaning up."_ **

The voices of the Void suddenly returned, but her fears abated with them. A raucous laugh burst from her as she lay writhing on the sodden floor; confident she had made the right choice. Despite her giggling, she could still hear the distinct, yet subtle phasing of Mirage's cloaking devices activating. A fresh towel in hand, she stepped through the fabric of reality, and gave chase to her invisible fugitive drinking partner.

And the totem gently span. 

\---------------

Sturdy, metal feet crunched against charred sand, and Revenant couldn't help but notice just how grating the noise was; almost familiar, yet supremely unwelcome. The dark sky above seemed just a cold replica of the vibrant sun-filled afternoon that had been teasing through the shutters of the Paradise Lounge, yet the air itself seemed to burn. 

This place was dead. 

"What does the dreg heap say of its king?" Revenant posed to the empty atmosphere. It was fitting to be alone with just his thoughts here, but Revenant wished to hear his own mind speak for itself. He had trudged for many hours across the broken land, aiming for the one place he somehow knew he would find answers, or at least someone to ask questions of. 

Thick, fluorescent Prowler blood seeped steadily down his arms, pooling behind him as he pressed on. It seemed not just that his presence was known, it was also unwanted. The hollow, shaded remnants of this world had left no visible marks on him in their own attacks, but their uncanny faces had long since seared into his psyche. He had imagined them in death many times before, but he would never stoop so far as to wrench them back from that inevitable abyss. 

Scaling a glassy dune, Revenant came upon the sight of a familiar, yet almost distant memory. He had been stood atop the gargantuan skull when Loba had brought the world around them crashing down; staring out to the sea, envisioning the world itself in the dying embers of his tumultuous wrath. Seeing the ancient skeleton flooded him with his own ghosts, rising from the endless mausoleum that encompassed his protracted past. It was strange to sense how loath he was of the dream come true that surrounded him now. Was this actually what he had wanted? 

How pathetic it all seemed. To revel in the wastes of your own catharsis. To lord over the ashes of your own burning desire. 

_Just let it die._

As if on cue, the outline of the top of the skull distorted along a small ridge, contorting into a more than familiar silhouette framed against the dim light of the ever-present moon. Elongated fingers steepled in maniacal malevolence, and the grand imitation of life echoed out across the expanse cursed by unending death. 

"So, you've finally arrived. Welcome, brother!"

The unhinged, viscous menace that oozed from his IDCOMS frame was unmistakable; Revenant was quite clearly _not_ welcome. It was one thing to hear an imitation or a recording of your own voice, but to feel the shadow of your own essence calling out to you was fundamentally jarring. The sense of his own thoughts twisting through the systems of his depraved doppelganger turned to acidic bile in his throat, and he struggled to determine if that memory was his own or not. 

Swallowing the fetid reminder, along with his pride, he looked up into the blazing eyes of his own infinitely darker reflection; desperately clinging to every fiber of his being for fear he would simply fade into the night. 

"Heh. I'm not entirely sure that's how this works," he smirked, tilting his head to the side in a mockery of the overly friendly MRVN he had come to despise so fondly. How would he be able to enjoy wreaking havoc on anyone's lives if they were all dead? He wondered if there was even any fun to be found in such antics anymore. He knew he couldn't care once he was gone. 

"No, you're right, oh deary me!" sang the imposter from his high perch. His voice instantly dropped to an ominous growl, as a pack of Prowlers teemed from the shadows of the giant skeleton, "That's not how this works at all."

"Shut up."

Revenant's response couldn't have been more blunt. An ornately gilded cartridge shot from the sling encased within his left arm, aimed right for the head of the encroaching ancient beast. The shade had evidently spent far too long pushing others to do his bidding, and the cartridge burst against his frame; unleashing a furiously vibrating orange orb that hung in the air like the absent sun that had once brightened the sky.

Revenant had the distinct feeling that his double would once have been able to dodge the attack; but despite his consistently slender frame, he had become bloated with victory and time. A guttural roar burst from atop the skull, as the shade's ties to his ferocious pets severed; their fierce charge halted and scattered. 

Revenant had never quite understood the powers of his silencing charges, yet he was glad for them. He had learned over time that they and his totems had something to do with quantum pinning, wave function collapse, and a strange phenomena known as the uncertainty principle. But that was where he had been happy to leave it. Uncertain. He had pulled the physicist’s windpipe from their neck before they could waste his time explaining any further. The myriad of documents that lined his data banks could have solidified his understanding, but he understood enough. They did what they did, that was the end of it. 

A new jolt of confusion coursed through him however, as his shade raised his fingers skywards; cackling furiously as the arcs of energy sealing his abilities began to dissipate. 

"Now, now. Down boys."

With a snap of his fingers, the air itself caught ablaze.

The familiar bite of the Ring's ionised plasma sunk into every atom of Revenant's being, yet it was the cutting laughter that pierced above the electric hum that shook his body with dreadful fury. As the Prowlers fell about him; suffering for their master's shortcomings, he was stunned to find himself thinking of Wattson. He found he could precisely imagine the visage of twisting horror that would dawn upon her if she were to know what her beloved creation was being used for. 

And for the first time, he did not savour the thought. 

It felt all too familiar. More so than the writhing shade above him. More so than the fierce shocks that wracked his body. It was the unforgettable sting of betrayal. To see the Ring's containment field used as a weapon only served to remind him of how the Syndicate and its many accomplices had wrung him dry. For all that the marvels of science could offer them, it was just human nature to destroy.

_Yet when it comes to me, nobody can damned do it right!_

The Ring wouldn't end him. Neither would the empty King who blazed along with him. He had found his end. His saviour. All he needed now was understanding. Theoretical physics didn't matter, it was tangible cause and effect that did. Why had he come to this? Was vengeance truly a better path to catharsis? What was there even left to a King of the Ashes? 

His cascade of questions ceased their swirling tumult with a snap. The containment field dissipated at the King's command, and the two simulacra smouldered in silence. 

Finally, his reflection straightened up; business attended to, "Heh. Well aren't you a barrel of laughs?" he snarled down at Revenant, "Come on up, Senor Loincloth. Let's see if we can turn that frown of yours upside down."

The recognition plastered itself over Revenant's unflinching face; the stunned silence punctuated by further cackling from above, as his double fell back into the shadows of the night.

The sharp implements he had once called hands dug deep into the dense bone as he slunk up the sheer edge of the skull, and he found himself irritated that his wretched Hammond logos had survived all this torment along with him. He primed himself, concentrating each strike as if it were aimed for his target above. Answers were no guarantee with him, and it gave him great pause to realise that that applied to both of them. He thought he had found his answer after all these years, but he could never shake the feeling that things were not as simple as they seemed.

"Oh, about time. Can I get you anything?" sang his reflection as he mounted the apex of the skull. A small hollow had been meticulously carved into the aged bone, yet a collection of familiar sights dotted the unusual abode. A battered D.O.C hovered passively between two inflated gas canisters; a black scarf draped over it in a crude simulacrum of a table cloth. What had once been Hack sat atop the now immobile healing drone, twisted and melded into the grotesque effigy of a teapot, and a collection of empty masks and prized heirlooms lined the walls in a macabre display of victory and loss.

He did not just rule over this dead land; he lorded over the dead. 

_Just let them die._

Would they construct such cruel mockeries from his skull once he was gone? Or would they throw him to the winds and forget him entirely? For some reason both pained him to consider, but neither was unwelcome. He refused to be alive enough to care if the time came.

_They just better not cry, damn it._

Would he care less if he were to have his vengeance? To live in triumph and die in peace sounded too good to be true. Maybe it would be best to just die. It was a shame it had taken him so many lifetimes to even come close to the questions, let alone any kind of answers.

"So? Can I get you anything?" 

Revenant snapped from his musing to find himself staring into the eyes of a skinsuit. _His_ skinsuit. A warped reflection of a shattered memory dug deep into his psyche as if it were that damned giant shard of glass, yet he at least knew now what he was made of. 

The illusion faded as he remembered himself, or at least that which was left to him. The now overly recognisable amber glow of his own optics glared back at him; far too close for the comfort of most, but their light seemed dimmer somehow, no matter what lumen readings would tell him. 

"A bit of space would be a good start," Revenant stated flatly; he was here to get answers, not give them. He wouldn't take a cup of damned tea either.

"As befitting such an honourable guest," slithered from his shadow, "But please, oh you must stay for tea." The husking tones that fell from his empty face were slathered in a saccharine coating, but he evidently struggled to hide his dripping malice, even when he intended to. His spindly arms contorted towards the makeshift table he had constructed for himself and some unknowable ghostly companion. Perhaps they had gone the way of the Ashes as well. 

Revenant sat reluctantly on the surprisingly comfortable makeshift stool, provided by the late Dr. Caustic. He wondered if the miserable doctor had ever known that he had created something so pleasing in all his efforts towards the ends of entropy, and he nearly burst out laughing at the irony. Maybe he would enlighten the poor man, if he made it back. 

"So, what do I call you?" he began, collecting himself, "I refuse to refer to you by my own damn name, as much as I didn't ask for it."

"Heh, now ain't that a kick in the teeth?" his mirror image reflected, "They called me Shade. Made sense enough. Definitely fitting now. But it didn't really matter what my name was; I was always coming for them. I'm sure you can relate. All the others did."

"Others?" Revenant hissed, suddenly knowing exactly what he had asked. 

"Heh, of course. I mean, what are you? Phantom? Spectre? I haven't had a Ghast yet. No, you need something more grandiose, you've at least made it this far." 

"Revenant," he said categorically. To think they were all so broken that no universe could come to a decisive name for them. Yet even if their names had been the same, he had somehow known that none of them would be like him, and the less of them like this arrogant bastard the better. 

"Ohhhh, spectacular!" Shade purred, "What a choice! Would send shivers down my spine if I had one. Then please tell me, Revenant, what brings you to my humble abode? Please tell me you're just here for tea."

As Shade's squirming fingers prised charred tea leaves from a warped glass jar, Revenant recognised the small side table it had lain on as one of Wattson's pylons. Leaning against it was a varnished fiddle topped with a silver wolf's head; glimmering finely in the persistent moonlight. 

Struggling to contain himself, Revenant watched as Shade activated the repurposed Hack with a touch; sprinkling the leaves into the attached basin of rapidly boiling water. He didn't know why he allowed the smirking imitation to pour him a chipped cup of the amber liquid, but he had recalled his purpose by the time it rested steaming in front of him. He still took a moment to take in the aroma, and found it surprisingly rich. Could something this pure still bloom in such blasted wastes? Or were these just his spoils?

"What was it worth?" he finally asked. 

"Everything."

The answer was simple, yet it could not be so easy.

"And what has it gotten you?" 

The question was so simple, yet it was unbearingly difficult to ask. 

"Heh. Look around you," Shade said proudly, "Everything that the light no longer touches…is my domain, as you might say. You could even go so far as to call me a God...Honey?" 

"What the hell did you call me?" Revenant snapped. 

"I was offering you a condiment," Shade sighed, procuring another jar, "I thought you could use some sweetness in your life. There's a whole lot of that left, I imagine."

"That's not the plan," Revenant bit back, "And you can keep your damn honey." 

"Me? Heh. I'm sweet enough," Shade chuckled, throwing the jar over his shoulder to tumble to the ground below, "Bitter too."

"Oh honey, you don't say," Revenant sneered. It appeared he really was spoiled.

"Then don't say I didn't warn you," Shade growled, taking a long sip from his cup. It unnerved Revenant to see his face actually change for yet a second time.

"What the hell is that monstrosity?" Revenant exclaimed, his optics honing in on the unfamiliarity of what he thought was his own unchanging death mask.

“Oh, this old thing?” Shade grinned widely, “I gave myself a few upgrades after I got hold of the source code. Had to upload it into a bunch of old Hammond networks though before I could do anything about changing this ugly mug. The extra chemoreceptors and annihilation chamber were a nightmare to get right, but they’re oh so worth it.”

As he drank more of the steaming beverage through his unnatural imitation of a mouth, a familiar orange vibrance shimmered from beneath his outer casing. He was using the totem’s powers to allow him to drink tea? Revenant had already seen much of their divergence, but that was almost a step too far. In his own past, he had obliterated any remains of the old Hammond that he could find, along with plenty of the new blood that followed. All that had been left to him was destruction, and his cursed hands. 

Yet Shade had used them first before disposing of them…it seemed all he could do was consume. Hammond's unknowable tech fueled his pointless gluttony, and the logos that also still marked him stood out proudly like badges of sick remembrance. 

“Then they tried to throw me in this damn prison,” Shade gestured to the expanse of King’s Canyon, “Big mistake.”

Had Revenant just wasted decades lost to his bloodlust? Was this where his determination could have brought him to? He found himself doubting his own goals even more; resurging memories of aimless violence mocking his original intent. To die would not enact justice. But what was justice worth to those long dead, himself included? Was it only meant for him alone in the first place?

“The Legends?” Revenant queried, his earlier battle with their remnants almost confirming his suspicions.

“Heh. Sure, if you want to call them that,” Shade sneered, a diamond-shaped charm rolling across his spidery digits as if pulled from the very shadows, “They didn’t take kindly to me at first, but all it took to get them on side was a little persuasion…”

“So you used them to take down the Syndicate…” Revenant stated quietly.

“Almost,” Shade teased, “Why do you think I really needed the source code?”

Revenant could tell he was dancing around the point; this conniving fiddler on the roof. What he needed the source code for was no longer anywhere near as important to Revenant as how he had come to obtain it. What did his relationship to Loba mean in this universe?

Yet the question at hand still held its own answers, “An army…” he suddenly realised.

“Now you’re seeing the big picture!” Shade cheered, “Right under my damned feet. Had to cull a few of the more belligerent ones once I got them up and running, but oh boy, when that little wolf howled…”

Shade’s seemingly fond sigh struck a nerve with Revenant, but at least he was getting closer to his answers now, “Speak of the devil. What _about_ Loba?” He hadn’t seen her face among the shadowed husks of the Legends, but the silver wolf-headed fiddle leant ominously at Shade’s side; too close for comfort.

“Heh. For a devil and a thief, she cut a good deal,” Shade chuckled. “She would lead me to my head, and my bodies...and I would take down the people who killed her parents. The people who killed and resurrected _us_ over and over and over again. I’d call it a fair trade. Maybe even a glorious partnership. From there, getting her into the Games was easy, and the rest speaks for itself. She needed no persuading.”

Revenant sat in silence for a moment. How strange it was to think that they had both used each other, rather than hating one another. He wasn't sure which was worse. 

"And then?" 

“What, after?" Shade scoffed, "Heh. Nothing special. We laughed, she cried; we kissed, I shot her. It was a whole thing. Man, she was _wild_ …”

He wouldn't let things die. He used them, ended them; yet would still refuse to let them rest. 

"Then you threw away the one shot you had!" Revenant laughed, "You sit here lashing your fists aimlessly in the dust, lording over the memory of a bunch of skinsuits who care even less than _you_ can now. You've left yourself nowhere to go, when all this could be over. You don't even have to be here anymore. Don't tell me that King of the Ashes is a dream that any damned version of me could ever have had."

"I am still here to remember what they took from me!" Shade thundered angrily in return, "To show what I fought for!"

"Ha! And this is what you have to show for it?" Revenant snarled, "That's rich. You call yourself a God? Sure, you gave yourself a mouth, but as far as I can see; all you've used it for is to drink crappy water and kiss wolves who are way too young for you. Some God. Doesn't seem like you actually say all that much, or have anyone left to show anything to. If anything you're obsolete."

"Heh! Maybe you're right!" Shade laughed suddenly, his arms gesticulating wildly, "Of course, I couldn't have done any of it if I didn't have the source code locked down…" 

His voice dropped yet again to a sinister growl, and his fingers steepled; his glaring optics raised knowingly to delve into the core of Revenant's very being. 

"So you could say, I owe all of this to her." 

"Shut up," Revenant seethed as a flaring orb burst from his arm into the smarmy face of the despicable Shade, and as yet another followed he roared furiously, "Shut up and die!" 

Stepping swiftly past the lingering, vibrant haze of his charms, Revenant grabbed the stumbling Shade by the pneumatics supporting his neck, pulling him in close, "And if you still refuse to do that much, you bastard, then hurry up and kill me already!"

Shade reared back in feral rage, his hand tensed to form the blade that Revenant so longed for. Releasing the foul King of the Ashes, Revenant's hands blurred between five distinct signs - Tiger, Snake, Dog, Dragon, Gate. The activation code released, and Shade's thrust cut into nothing but pitch black smoke. 

"See you in hell, Shade," Revenant's smouldering form taunted menacingly, "If you can make it there."

A final swing from Shade's newly bunched fist careened through the shadowy revenant who had dared to test him, and the ethereal figure dissipated to the night air. 

Yet his fury would not know the same end.

\---------------

The Paradise Lounge was busier today, despite still being closed for business. Mirage was quietly celebrating yet another chance for his scrappy bar to be the oasis from the Outlands the Legends all needed, and he was noisily collecting orders from all over the room.

"Bangs! Old Fashioned? Smoky?" he winked from behind the bar, and the Sergeant flashed a nod back. 

"Line 'em up, shooter!" she called, nursing a broken arm from the previous day's games, "I need all the backup I can get." 

They had all survived the new blood with relative ease; none of them even came close to being called Legends just yet. Lifeline tutted loudly from the seat beside Bangalore, "G'won wit'cha! Yer as bad as Silva! Don' expect meh to fix ya up again if ya just gon' go pass out!" 

The jubilant laughter filling the air made Mirage feel at ease. He was in his element; so much so that he had forgotten all about the slowly turning totem resting on a shelf behind him. All of his friends were here. Like Crypto. And even the people he wasn't sure of. Like Crypto. There was still one of the latter absent, but the absent-minded fool had put them out of mind for now. 

Dr. Caustic sat to himself in a corner booth, meticulously adding drops of his own toxins to a tall, mixed citrus drink. It was a shock to learn that he even had a preference for flavour, but not so to see him ruin Mirage's perfectly balanced concoction. Between the doctor's note taking and his experimentation, he would occasionally glance across the room at Wattson, visibly perturbed at the fact that she was taking the time to relax.

Crypto would also steal quick glimpses of her from behind his busy hands; a pained look of regret stifling behind his usual stern gaze as he toiled with Hack's operating system. He was trying with all his might to ignore the frantic ramblings of Octane and booming guffaws of Gibraltar from the bench across his table, but he still found time to sip at his melon sour amid it all. 

The bartender sees everything.

Mirage didn't notice Wraith slide onto the stool in front of him, but he knew what was required of him once he did. 

"Oho! A returning customer! Heheh, that's a first…"

"Shut up," Wraith grinned at him, "The usual, please. And what are we going to do about him?" She gestured to the shining totem, spinning on its glassy plinth. 

"Like I said, we could always just smash it," Mirage suggested, "That'd be one less party pooper for the party at least." 

"No," Wraith said definitively, "He still owes Nat an apology. I'd rather that he saw that through. He evidently had a lot of questions to ask."

Loba's ears pricked up over her rather unusual conversation with Bloodhound and Pathfinder. Sat by the largest window, in case she ever needed a quick escape; she looked past the tracker's bird as it warily inched along the MRVN's shoulder, to the cute little couple whispering sweet nothings to each other over the bar. She had noticed the demon's absence, and she wrestled against the worry that he would be gone from her life forever too. 

Speak of the Devil.

Wraith casually stepped to the side mid-conversation. Loba realised immediately what it meant, whereas Mirage was never going to catch on. Both women realised this simultaneously, as Wraith pulled Mirage to the side, and Loba scoffed. Revenant burst from the totem in a wisp of smoke and glass, collapsing over the bar to smash into the floor. 

He lay motionless on his back, soaking in the sudden gentle noise of hushed breathing and probing stares. Before he could bring himself to move, yet another automaton stood over him, and his own dreadful face threatened to glare back into the abyss of his soul. If he could be said to have one.

"Can I give you a hand, friend?" came the jolly voice from above. A giant red eye and an extending arm loomed over him, Pathfinder trying as ever to be a little too helpful. 

"A bit of space would be a good start," Revenant sighed. Yet another hand thrust into his vision, and his sigh deepened. 

"If they had a good gift shop, I'll give you all the time and space you want," Wraith stated flatly. Mirage couldn't help feeling a little jealous of this as he eavesdropped, but he could also feel the spotlight burning on them all far too harshly. 

"Well, someone's had a bit too much!" he cheered suddenly. "That's coming off your tab, buddy!" he smirked over the bar at Revenant, and turned to heft a fresh bottle of tequila into the air, decoys shimmering into being beside him. His synchronised prancing tomfoolery gave way to a resurgent clamour as he started to pour shots for them all, insisting they too would be put on Revenant's tab. 

Revenant's spirits refused to rise, even as he was lifted from the floor. Yet the skinsuit's attitude had changed. Did she just want her souvenir, or was she simply impressed that he had returned at all? She had held his hand to lift him up, when she had shivered at his touch just the day before. How he hated those damned hands. Everything they dared to cling to seemed to fall to ribbons. 

And suddenly, he knew what he must do.

Revenant turned from the pair, ignoring Pathfinder's hovering request of a high five, and headed straight for Wattson. The cheery engineer looked up to see nearly seven feet of spindly metal looming over her; yet before her expression could drop, or her heart could sink, Revenant did instead. 

His plated joints folded in upon themselves, his limbs pulling in tight, and he made himself as small as possible; crouching down on the floor. Wattson's confusion remained, but she was not as frightened as she would have expected. Something had changed about him, and she knew that no manner of diagnostics would reveal those secrets to her. That was his charge.

Revenant raised his hands in front of him, holding his palms together, staring at his knees. His voice was quiet, but it was firm. 

"It turns out I'm no good at asking for anything…in fact maybe I'm no good at all. But I didn't ask to be constantly reminded. These…brands...I can't escape them..."

He finally looked up at her, and the circuitry behind his optics flared in unknowable sadness, like a pair of dying stars. It didn't take an electrician to see that. 

"But I can't let them go."

His head dropped, the realisation crushing him under the weight of countless dismembered bodies and half-remembered unwitting memories. He had always been a pawn, and he had happily played along with their twisted games.

A sudden jolt in his circuitry sprung his head up again, the surging pain turning to something akin to a welcome pleasure. Wattson was peering closely at his hands, running recurrent electrical shocks from her gloves into the imprinted outlines of giant letters that scarred him so deeply. She was stronger than he had given her credit for. Proving that was better for her than any souvenir he could have found. 

"Hmm, hold still then _fantome._ I don't want to hurt you." 

Revenant couldn't handle that amount of fuss, and he definitely didn't know what to do with that kind of compassion. He didn't deserve it. Skinsuits certainly were capable of many things beyond his imagination. 

"But I still don't forgive you," Wattson stated calmly as she worked. She showed no quarter now, and Revenant was almost impressed. 

"You shouldn't," came Revenant's honest reply. It felt satisfying to admit it. 

Wattson stopped her work briefly, and looked off somewhere into the distance beyond him, "I've been hearing that a lot lately."

Her sparkly voice had taken on a tone that was far too knowing, far too understanding for the innocent little girl he had terrorised. Suffering should only be laid upon those who deserved it; yet he had built up more than a lifetime's supply, and had felt the need to share. And now he had shared a secret, having learned his answer. 

"Then I won't say another word."

"You might not be able to help it," she sternly cautioned him, "The voltage I need to remove the pigment and smooth out the indentations could be too much for even you to handle."

_And now, respect? Don't make me like you, girl._

"Heh."

Revenant pulled away from the concerned electrician, and turned to lean against the bar. He could not meet his end in true peace, for these fools would not have the heart to end him. He dared not even glance at Loba, for he did not know if he could handle what he would see. Yet he knew what he should do. 

Not even Mirage could distract everyone from the crunching snap that suddenly exploded through the Lounge. Wattson looked on in terror as Revenant turned back to her, placing one of his severed hands gently in her grasp. As the silence deepened with their stares, the Legends were brought crashing back to their senses by yet another resounding burst of scraping metal. 

Revenant's other hand lay on the bar, impossibly removed from his arm. The stunned looks on their faces was priceless; so much so that he felt honoured to be able to take them to his grave. He hoped that at least one of them would be able to honour that. 

"I don't even know how you did that," a bemused Mirage suddenly blurted into the stillness, and the Lounge erupted into drunken laughter.

As the door to Paradise swung closed, and a pair of expensive heels strode out into the night; Pathfinder yet again approached their automaton accomplice, "Can I give you a hand, friend?" they chirped once more. 

Revenant suddenly found that he too had joined in with the cacophony of cackling that surrounded him, and he could do nothing but surrender himself to it.

As the raucous noise of the bar faded into the distance, Loba quickened her pace. She would not let go of him, yet she could not escape him. He was the culmination of everything she had ever known. Everything she had dreamed of. Yet not only was he a mere product of the real darkness she had sought, but he was beginning to step from his own shadow. How could she kill such a pitiful being that dare not even look her in the eye? 

She could not let him go, yet she worried that she could not end him either. Even if there was more to see from him, she knew that she had to see that through. For them both. But if he could now die, and she could finally kill him; would that bring them peace? Or did it not give them cause to live first? At least they had the choice now, wolves and demons alike. 

_Make use of those nine lives of yours, gatinho. Don't worry, I'll make sure to take your final treasure._

His mirth subsided, Revenant stared longingly at the Lounge door; almost wishing it would swing back open with the confident stride of a proud wolf. Yet it remained closed, and so did he.

“Uh...c-can I get you anything?” Mirage suddenly stuttered over the bar. If Revenant’s face could change, he would have smiled. What a thing, to change one's face. 

“Tea,” he purred delicately, “Dark. Lots of honey.” 

_Bittersweet._

As Mirage set the fine china cup down on the knotted wood, the comforting aroma filled Revenant's olfactory sensors; the spectrographic analysis paling in comparison to his memories of true, rich flavour. He sat quietly at the bar as the other Legends jostled around him; an old robot missing his hands, staring down through the steam at the distorted stranger floating in the amber liquid below. 

It will always be hard to let others in; when we struggle so to find ourselves. Stepping into your own shadow may only reveal just how dark you truly are. 

-END-

**Author's Note:**

> This piece took me an age to get right, and exploded in scale compared to my initial idea of "Rev goes for tea with Shade".  
> It was inspired by the "Holiday" prompt, but I didn't have it ready until the final day of "Freestyle", but I'd say it was worth it :D  
> This is probably my favourite piece I've made all told, and as with most of them, I wrote the ending first, from Mirage asking if Rev wanted a drink. That made it all the more impactful when Rev says "But I can't let them go." because I only realised how that tied back to the rest of the story I'd come to (& Shade particularly) literally as I wrote it. I cried yo xD  
> I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing it :) <3 but don't feel you have to cri :')


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